


You and Me

by my99centdreams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Growing Up Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pat and Jonny are sweethearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic was an excuse for me to try writing about intimacy and all that good stuff. Not sure how well I conveyed it, but I really enjoyed writing it so I hope you like it, too. It isn't beta'd so please try to ignore all of my punctuation mistakes I'm really fucking terrible when it comes to commas.

_16._

Jonny's room smells like pizza and sweat and cheap cologne and Patrick feels like he's melting.

Sweat drips down his neck and the backs of his knees, seeping into the sheets where they’re plastered against his skin, and his hair is a sloppy mess where it’s matted to his forehead. He lies very still on the bed, takes shallow breaths to keep from taking up too much space, because any time he or Jonny move their arms slide together slick and disgusting, and it makes him shiver.

They're holed up in Jonny's room because his aunt and uncle are down from Canada, taking up so much space with their curious stares and constant chatter that Patrick briefly considered leaving and dragging Jonny along with him. Erica was the only one home today and she’d only bother them when she got hungry; they could have all the privacy they wanted.

Jonny drew him upstairs though, clutching ice pops in one hand and Patrick's wrist in the other, shutting his bedroom door behind them with a shove. The heat makes everything swell and creak and stick and Patrick feels like the entire house is holding it’s breath.

Patrick ate most of the ice pops himself, but Jonny didn’t seem to mind, just pressed his cool hand to the back of Patrick’s neck and kept flipping through the dumb fishing magazine Patrick borrowed from his dad.  Jonny’s been doing that a lot lately – touching Patrick with intent – and Patrick stills every time it happens, relaxing into the touch easily.

He thinks about the different ways Jonny touches him when he’s in his room at night with the door locked or taking a shower when no one else is home, thinks about Jonny’s hand on his neck or his wrist or trailing up his thigh. Patrick doesn’t really know when he started getting hard for Jonny, but at this point in his life it’s ancient news.

Jonny took his hand back when they ran out of ice pops, though, instead choosing to glare at the discarded wrappers on the floor and Patrick can't come up with a way to ask Jonny to touch him again without sounding weird so he keeps his mouth shut, and lets Jonny's family do the talking for him, their voices drifting up with the muggy heat.

Patrick's heard so much French in the past five hours it feels like his ears are buzzing, feels like if he tried hard enough he'd be fluent by the end of the day.

Jonny's lying on the bed quietly next to him now, but after a few minutes of Patrick complaining he gets up and drags his fan over, aiming it on Patrick.

It doesn't even help, he's just being blasted by warm air. Patrick twists and turns on the mattress, fucking up the dirty sheets, feeling anxious and restless in the endless heat. He wails, "I'm _dying_."

“You’re not dying,” Jonny snorts. "And it's gonna rain soon anyway; if you die you’ll miss it."

“Oh god,” Patrick moans. “Are you sure?”

"It's what the weather channel said earlier," Jonny shrugs, lying back down next to Patrick. Jonny’s so close Patrick can feel the heat coming off of him. Patrick kind of wants to lick the sweat off him, wants to press his fingers into the pale skin of his shoulder where his stupid farmer’s tan starts, wants to put Jonny's hand in his hair and go down on him until he can't focus on anything but Jonny's cock in his mouth.

"Fuck, that's meaningless. They're always fucking wrong, you know that."

Jonny rolls his eyes, "They said it was going to be in the eighties."

"Yeah, and it's in the fucking nineties." Patrick throws his arm over his eyes. "How are we even still alive right now?" he pauses, lifting his arm up just enough so that he can peek at Jonny. "How do you not have a working air conditioner?"

"Just think about the rain," Jonny tells him, calm like he didn't soak through two shirts in an hour before deciding to ditch them altogether. "Think about how good it'll feel on your skin."

"Yeah," Pat breathes, eyes closing. He pictures the ocean and the lake by his grandparents’ house and Niagara Falls.

"On your face," Jonny continues, voice low and soothing. "Sliding down your throat."

Patrick's throat clicks when he swallows; he spreads his legs a little. And just like that he’s back to thinking about sucking Jonny off. He’s never actually done it before, but he wants to. He could make it good for Jonny if he’d just give him a chance. He whines, "Yeah, I want it."

Jonny's breathing goes heavy, his voice hoarse, "Fuck, Pat."

And Patrick doesn't have time to process it before Jonny's hands are urging him closer and his mouth's on Patrick's, salty and hot.

Jonny's a sloppy kisser, lots of tongue and teeth and restless hands, like he can't get enough no matter how hard he tries, or at least that’s how Patrick feels.

He's a fucking mess next to Jonny, trembling like he's never been kissed before - which he has - just not like this.

Jonny tangles his fingers in Patrick’s hair even though it’s sweaty and gross and whispers something in French that sounds deceptively sweet, the words buzzing against Patrick’s lips before he swallows them up. He wonders if his guidance counselor will let him switch to French next year.

They kiss until Jonny's lips are swollen and red, and Patrick feels like he never wants to kiss anyone else ever again, feels like they could never match up to Jonny. Jonny pulls back just enough so that they aren’t kissing anymore, but keeps their foreheads pressed together and when Patrick meets his eyes he lets out a soft moan, fingers scrabbling against Jonny’s shoulder.

Jonny’s looking at him like he wants to fuck him into the mattress, like Pat’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his entire god damn life. It leaves him shivering, has him reaching down to grab his dick before he can think better of it, and when Jonny’s eyes track the movement Patrick panics for a second, thinking he’s gonna come. He chokes out, “Oh my god.”

The hand in his hair tightens almost painfully and Jonny bites his lip, his eyes closed. He gasps, voice weak, “Fuck.”

After a few moments they disentangle from each other, returning to their original positions, their sweaty hands practically glued together, until Mrs. Toews calls them down for lunch. They eat in silence, their legs pressed together underneath the table, and nobody even looks at them twice.

Patrick feels a little like he’s getting away with murder.

It finally pours around eight, and Patrick runs around outside, laughing like it's torn out of him, while Jonny watches from the front porch with his head tipped back, his tongue hanging out of his mouth to catch the cool drops.

When it starts thundering and the sky lights up Jonny hurries him inside and Patrick watches the storm from the living room, thinking about static electricity and atoms combining to form something new. He presses his hand to Jonny's face gently like he's been doing it his whole life, feels his skin sing when Jonny grins at him.

 

_18._

They miss the ball drop on New Year’s Eve because the theater by his house is showing _Jurassic Park_ for one night only and Jonny practically begged him to go see it with him the second Patrick got out of work. Pat's always kind of hated New Years to begin with so it was kind of a no brainer. He’s never seen the movie before, but just the name has him guessing Jonny’s seen it enough times for the both of them.

There are a lot of middle school kids in the theater with them and Patrick wonders if their parents are at home getting drunk while they still can, or just waiting in their cars, listening to the ceremony on the radio. He wonders if Erica invited her boyfriend over like she said she would, and if their dad’s giving them a hard time. He wonders if his dad would give _his_ boyfriend a hard time if they were at Pat’s instead of an old, rundown theater.

Jonny holds his hand during the entire movie, squeezing whenever something interesting happens and Patrick remembers when they were younger and Jonny used to ramble on and on about dinosaurs for hours at a time. He eats his candy and makes sure Jonny gets some as well to keep him from complaining later on.

About halfway through the movie the whispering in the theater picks up and Patrick figures the ball must've dropped and that it's officially the New Year.

He sits there in the dark with Jonny clutching his hand, praying to fucking god he gets into whatever college Jonny decides to grace with his presence, because Patrick doesn't know what the fuck he wants to be yet, just knows he's not ready to be left behind.

His mom wants him to teach and his dad wants him to do something with his hands and Jonny keeps his mouth shut on the topic, rubbing his thumb over the back of Patrick’s hand when he senses him starting to panic.

Patrick tries to focus on the movie, but he can’t stop thinking about the brochures for California and Massachusetts and fucking Winnipeg that Jonny’s been browsing through the last two weeks. Pat’s not even really sure he wants to leave the state let alone the country.

Later, when they're driving back to Patrick's house Jonny makes a displeased sound and says, "We missed the ball drop."

Patrick hums, looking out his window. All of the houses on his block are lit up, filled to the brim with people celebrating and kissing and fucking their way into the New Year. He kind of wishes he’d kissed Jonny at midnight.

"We'll catch it next year," Jonny says, like it's obvious, like there's no way they won't be in the same place in a year's time.

Patrick’s hands twitch against his thighs; he wants to kiss him so bad it hurts. He nods, letting out a breath, "Of course.”

Jonny reaches over and laces their fingers together, brings their hands up to his mouth and kisses Patrick’s knuckles.

 

_19._

Arizona is hot and dry and it takes them two hours to find a motel with a (barely) working air conditioner and (relatively) clean sheets. Patrick collapses onto the bed the second they get into the room, lets Jonny tug his jeans and shoes off for him. He feels like this is the first time he’s been out of the car in days.

Jonny showers while Pat makes himself comfortable and Patrick can hear him singing something to himself over the sound of the water pattering against the tiles. Jonny comes back out smelling like mint; Patrick watches as he pulls on underwear and a t-shirt before crawling onto the bed. Patrick kicks the covers down to the bottom of the bed and Jonny throws an arm over him, scooting in closer until he’s lying half on top of Patrick with their legs tangled together.

Patrick kisses him until he feels like he’s about to fall asleep, feels Jonny smile when Pat fails to stifle a yawn. Jonny’s cheeks are all pinked up and Patrick feels like they’re the only two people on the entire planet. He asks, “What were you singing in the shower?”

“Just a song my mom showed me.”

“Sing it for me?” Patrick asks, quietly.

Jonny’s quiet for a moment and Patrick’s about to tell him he doesn’t have to, but then he starts singing, so softly Pat has to strain to hear him, “If the stars don’t shine, if the moon won’t rise,” Jonny trails his fingers along Patrick’s cheek. “If I never see the setting sun again you won’t hear me cry.” He leans in, pressing kisses to Patrick’s cheeks and forehead and the tip of his nose and his eyelids, humming the song softly. Patrick feels a little like he could cry, his hands clutching desperately at Jonny’s shirt. His breath hitches and he swallows against the lump in his throat.

“You and me,” Jonny whispers, still singing. “Nobody, baby, but you and me.”

Jonny lets Patrick take his weight, rests his head on Patrick’s chest, and Patrick’s hand comes up to wrap around Jonny’s neck, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

The sheets are itchy against his bare skin and the AC is rattling in a way he knows will keep him up all night, and on the crappy little TV the Coyotes are winning by the skin of their teeth, but Patrick still wishes he could stretch this moment out, make it last for as long as humanly possible.

When Jonny stops humming the AC clicks off loudly and Patrick startles a bit, feels like he’s already starting to sweat again.

Jonny’s quiet against him, pressing a soft kiss to Patrick’s sternum as Patrick cards his fingers through his hair. And in that moment, he can’t help himself. He swallows, “I love you.”

Jonny lets out a shaky breath, stilling.

“God,” Patrick says, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “Oh fuck, I really fucking love you.” He laughs a little, tapping Jonny’s cheek when he doesn’t reply. “Hey, look at me.”

It takes a moment, but Jonny finally lifts his head, his cheeks red and his pupils blown. Patrick fits his hand to his cheek, like he did when they were sixteen and takes a quick, sharp breath, his voice firm, “You’re it for me, Jonathan Toews.”

“Pat,” Jonny sounds broken, sounds open and out of control and scared. Patrick rubs his thumb over Jonny’s chin. Jonny’s breath stutters against his wrist, and then he’s rushing out, “You’re it for me, too.”

“Good,” Patrick smiles, small and happy. He feels lighter, concentrates on syncing up his breathing to Jonny’s.

Jonny laughs, pushing himself up to kiss him. “I love you,” Jonny breathes, like it’s a secret, his lips brushing Patrick’s. “I love you, I love you.”

 

_20._

Jonny fucks like it's the only thing he knows how to do.

He presses Patrick down into the bed and kisses him until his chest’s heaving, until his mouth’s sore and all he can do is beg for it, writhing against the sheets. He bites bruises into Patrick’s throat and chest, hands drifting up from his hips to his shoulders and back down again, ignoring Patrick’s dick where it’s leaking onto his belly.

And Patrick knows Jonny’s not going to make this easy for him, but he can’t help the way his breath hitches every time Jonny’s hand skims lower, his hips pushing up eagerly. Jonny gives him a stupid, smug little smirk each time, forcing Pat’s hips back down onto the bed.

Patrick pants against his arm when Jonny opens him up, his head twisting back and forth on the pillow, and the shit Jonny says to him – about him – has him flushing red all down his chest, cheeks flaming red.

“It’s good, babe?” Jonny grits out, voice rough and low. “Fuck, you look so pretty for me, Pat.”

And when he’s finally inside Patrick, hips moving slow and steady, he pushes Patrick’s thighs up and back, moaning into Patrick’s neck when he notices how Patrick’s thighs are trembling in his grip.

Patrick can’t handle it when Jonny fucks him like this, feels desperate and overwhelmed and out of control. He presses his cheek into the pillow, one hand tugging at his hair and the other gripping Jonny’s hip, trying to urge him on faster. He whines, “Don’t – don’t, _fuck_ , not like this. God, Jonny, please.”

Jonny ignores him, keeps up the same slow pace, getting off on how absolutely fucking wrecked Pat is.

Patrick spreads his thighs as much as he can in Jonny’s grip, pleads, “C’mon, you know you want to. It’ll feel so good, you know it will.”

Jonny’s hips stutter and Pat holds his breath, waiting for the first harsh push in, but after a moment Jonny gets his original rhythm back. Pat sinks back into the bed, tries not to focus on how it feels to be fucked like this, like he’s Jonny’s in every way, shape, and form.

When Patrick’s hands start drifting down to his dick every few thrusts Jonny grabs hold of them, pinning them up by Patrick’s head, fingers circled tight around his wrists in a way that makes his chest feel tight, has him gasping for air and squirming as he tries not to come too fast. Jonny lets his head drop down, watching where he’s spreading Pat open, breath turning harsh and quick as Pat wraps his legs around him, tries to get him to move faster again.

Jonny does, eventually, and Patrick moans in gratitude. It feels so good, _god_ , Jonny feels so fucking _good_ inside him; he feels like he can’t breathe, feels hot and oversensitive and so fucking needy it’s almost embarrassing. And Jonny’s making just as much noise as he is now, groaning like Pat’s killing him every time Patrick opens his fucking mouth.

Jonny changes the angle a bit, leans over Patrick a little more, and then it’s just – yeah – everything he fucking wants as Jonny brushes up against his sweet spot on every stroke. And he knows Jonny’s talking, running his filthy fucking mouth like he always does, but Patrick’s finding it harder and harder to focus on anything other than the way Jonny’s filling him up. He wants to come so bad he feels a little wild with it, feels like he’d do anything if Jonny would just let Patrick touch his dick.

Jonny waits until Patrick has tears in his eyes, until his lip’s bleeding a little and all he can say is, “ _Please_.” Over and over again like it’s the only fucking word he knows.

Jonny shakes above him, eyes squeezed shut as he finally lets go of Pat’s wrists and wraps a hand around his dick instead, groaning, “Yeah, babe, do it.”

And Patrick’s gone; he comes so hard he feels his come hit his neck, feels every muscle in his body tighten up as his back arches off the mattress. His mouth’s open, but he can’t actually get any sound to come out. He hears a pained, “Fuck, Pat.”

Jonny picks up speed a little, thrusts turning fast and shallow. When Patrick can open his eyes again he gazes up at Jonny, glassy eyed and slack jawed, and strokes his fingers along his face, voice rough as he whispers, "You're so good to me, Jonny. God, you're so good."

And Jonny makes a hurt sound, mouth dropping open as he fucks in one last time before tensing up, fingers digging into Patrick’s thighs as he comes inside him.

Patrick strokes his hand along Jonny’s back as he pants into Patrick’s neck, running his other hand through Jonny’s hair until he pulls out, flopping to the side. After a few moments Jonny plasters himself to Pat’s side, his hand tracing up between his legs, higher and higher until he’s pressing his fingers against Pat’s hole, feels his come leaking out. Patrick grins at him, “Thank you.”

Jonny shudders against him, his cheeks flushing red. He groans, “Christ, Pat.”

_21._

TJ takes them to a dive bar with a neon cactus sign hanging in the front window and loud techno music pumping from the speakers; Jonny’s eyes bug out of his head when TJ turns to them and grins, “Pretty fucking sweet, right?”

 Patrick can physically see Jonny desperately trying to come up with an escape plan, but he’s never been very good at those to begin with so Patrick pushes him inside.

TJ’s date is already waiting for them at a booth in the back; she stands up when she spots them and gives them all a hug when they reach her. She has bright, red hair and a tiny gap between her two front teeth, she beams at them, “Hi, I’m Mel.”

TJ and Mel lead the conversation for a while and Pat’s happy to let them. He leans back against the sticky vinyl of the booth, Jonny’s arm around his shoulders a steady weight as he tries to figure out a way to stealthily ask Jonny if he wants to have drunk sex later because Pat would totally be up for that, he’d just like to know if he should get a head start on the whole drunk part.

He’s about to send Jonny to the bar for more drinks when Mel asks, “So, how do you two know each other?”

“Pat and Jonny are sweethearts,” TJ says, completely serious, the corner of his mouth tilted up fondly. Jonny’s fingers twitch against his shoulder. “Since high school.”

“Really?” Mel looks absolutely thrilled. To be honest, Pat’s pretty thrilled about it, too.

“Yep,” TJ says, grinning. His eyes flicker over to Jonny and he winks, raising his beer a little higher. “To the lovebirds.”

Mel laughs, looking slightly embarrassed for the both of them, but raises her glass as well, “To the lovebirds.” Patrick raises what’s left of his beer and after a moment Jonny follows his lead, both of their cheeks stained red.

They hang out at the bar for a couple more hours and Patrick fails to come up with a way to sneakily ask for drunk sex without jumping Jonny in the filthy bathroom so he’s sober by the time the three of them pile into a cab to return back to the dorms.

TJ talks loudly the whole ride back about Mel, mostly just gushing about her and then asking them if they liked her or not. Patrick’s too busy dealing with TJ to notice Jonny veering off in his direction when they make it back to campus instead of TJ’s, just keeps talking about the bar and other stupid shit until Jonny’s suddenly crowding Pat up against the door to his room while Patrick clumsily tries to get his key out.

They stumble inside, Pat flinging an arm out to steady them against the wall as Jonny wraps his arms around his waist and presses his mouth to his throat, hot and damp, whispering, “Sweethearts, huh?”

“Sounds about right,” Patrick mumbles, letting his head fall back on Jonny’s shoulders.

Jonny bites at his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, says, “It does have a nice ring to it.”

 

 _24._  
  
"It's...tiny." Jonny hesitates, voice gentle.  
  
"It's supposed to be," Patrick says, eyebrows raised. "There are only two of us."  
  
Jonny startles, "You said we could get a dog."  
  
“Sorry,” Patrick holds up his hands. "Three of us. Still, the dog doesn't need her own room."  
  
"She needs space to move around," Jonny huffs, glancing around the living room with disdain. It’s an open floor plan, though so Patrick honestly doesn’t know what’s wrong with it. There’s room for couches and a coffee table as well as a decent sized TV and whatever else they want to put in it. They don’t have that much furniture to begin with.

There’s also the fact that they haven’t even begun to look for dogs yet; Patrick only just agreed to get one about two weeks ago and in that time Jonny’s decided they’re getting a girl and naming her something fancy like Juliette. Patrick is just so far away from figuring Jonny out it’s not even funny.  
  
"You haven't even seen the backyard yet," he says.  
  
"There's a backyard?" Jonny asks, hopeful.  
  
Patrick holds out his hand, smirking, "Follow me, babe."  
  
Jonny rolls his eyes, but takes Patrick's hand, grinning back at him dumbly. They pass the realtor in the kitchen; she smiles when she sees them, but still gives them some space to figure everything out on their own.  
  
If Patrick's being honest, the backyard is part of why he's so set on the place. It's pretty fucking spacious. There's enough room for the dog to run around, enough for barbeques and family parties, it's big enough for a wedding to be held, too.

“So?” he asks. “What do you think?”

Jonny glances around at the yard, at the empty flower bed by the porch and the big oak in the back corner and the green, green grass. He turns back to Patrick, “I like it.”

Patrick tries not to sound too hopeful; he doesn’t think he does a good job at it, “Yeah?”

Jonny smiles, soft and sweet and lovely, “Yeah.”

 

_13._

Patrick meets Jonny when he's thirteen, small and quiet, prone to getting lost when there's no one around to keep an eye on him.

Jonny was almost as bad as he was at that age, constantly wandering off to explore any time he got the chance. He liked quiet spaces, liked healthy, larger than life things like oak trees and wild berries.

So, naturally, they meet in the forest.

Patrick stumbles across him when he's skipping swim time, sneaking behind the sheds next to the kiddie pool and marching deeper into the woods. He’s got his lunch with him, tucked safely away in his backpack, and if he can find some sturdy sticks he could probably manage to start a fire and roast the marshmallows his mom packed as a treat. Patrick’s never actually started a fire before, but people in movies do it all the time so how hard can it be?

He walks until he can’t hear the sounds from the pool area and then a little further so that it’ll be easier to hide the smoke from the fire. He gathers up some rocks and sticks, clearing a spot in the dirt and dropping his backpack next to it.

It’s when he’s sitting there in the dirt, rubbing two sticks together furiously to no avail that Jonny finds him.

“Uh,” Patrick’s head snaps up, finding a boy who looks to be about his age glaring at him from a few feet away. “What’re you doing?”

Patrick goes back to rubbing the sticks together. “Starting a fire.”

The boy sounds strangled, “A fire?”

“Yep,” Patrick confirms.

“And how’s that working for you?”

“Not too well,” Patrick admits. “It looked easier on TV.”

“Oh my god,” the boy groans, coming closer. “You’re lucky it’s not working, what if it had? You’d have burned the entire forest down.”

Patrick scoffs, “Would not have.”

“Would too,” he crosses his arms. “You don’t even have any water to put it out.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, stumped. Now that he thinks about it, he really doesn’t have any way of putting the fire out once swim time is over. He drops the sticks. “Bad plan, I guess.”

“What are you even doing out here? You should be at the pools like everyone else.”

Patrick shrugs, “We have swim every day; I got bored.” He tugs his backpack over, digging out his marshmallows. “I’m Patrick, by the way.”

“Jonathan,” he says. “Are you going to come here every day?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick pops a marshmallow in his mouth. “Maybe.”

Jonathan looks incredibly displeased.

Patrick holds the bag out for him, “Do you want some?”

Jonathan stands his ground for a couple of seconds before giving in, stumbling over to sit next to Patrick. “Thanks.”

“Sure. So, is this, like, your special place?” Patrick wishes he had a special place. If Jonathan has a different special place Patrick’s claiming this one as his.

Jonathan shrugs, chewing thoughtfully. “I guess so. I’ve been coming here since last summer.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, disappointed.

Jonathan’s quiet for a moment, but then he says hesitantly, “I guess we could share it?”

Patrick perks up, “Yeah, okay.”

Jonathan grins at him, a little timid and maybe a little like he regrets offering, but Patrick will change that eventually.

“I promise I’m not a total loser,” Patrick nods. “Seriously, I bet we’ll be friends by the time summer ends.”

Jonathan snorts, doubt written plainly across his face, “You think so?”

Patrick grins, “I know so.”


End file.
